


Claimed

by Mackem



Series: Imaginary Advent Calendar 2012 [24]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Christmas, Claiming, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Scent Marking, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles just wants Derek to claim him again, and gives him a reason to do just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claimed

**Author's Note:**

> Every year, I write what I call my Imaginary Advent Calendar, where each day until December 25th I open another day of an advent calendar that doesn’t exist and write what I picture various people or characters in different shows/fandoms/books in a holidays context. This year I’ve challenged myself to write a ficlet for every day. See Vicky panic! They’ll be in various different fandoms and pairings, and won’t be particularly long (except the ones that eat my brain). Enjoy! X!
> 
> So, I know I've done Derek/Stiles a couple of times in this challenge, but this is the first one that is specifically about them, and them being all sexy together. I wanted to finish with them, for my own personal satisfaction! MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ONE AND ALL, HAVE SOME SEX FROM ME.

Derek’s nose wrinkles as soon as Stiles makes his way into the Hale house, his brow creasing in confusion. “Stiles, why do you smell like…”

“Like what?” Stiles asks cheerfully. He knows damn well what he smells like. He’s put a hell of a lot of effort into smelling like this.

Derek strides right into his personal space and sniffs the air around him, before he noses at Stiles’ throat. He bares it helpfully, hands scritching at Derek’s hair. “Would it help if you sniffed my butt?” he asks with a grin. “Or my crotch? You probably always want to do that, huh. I bet you have to hold yourself back, right?”

“I _do_ have to hold myself back,” Derek agrees. “Every time you open your mouth.” He pulls back to aim a suspicious glower at Stiles. “Stiles, you smell like _everyone_.”

“Don’t I always?” he asks innocently. “I mean, I see everyone every day. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your pack? Kinda touchy-feely.”

“Which is why you always smell a little like them,” Derek says evenly, but his eyes are glittering. “And that’s fine, because my pack is _your_ pack.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Stiles asks, unable to stop the cheeky grin spreading across his face. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles and scrapes his nose over Stiles’ throat with a deep inhale. An appreciative shiver trembles through him.

“You smell like they’ve been pawing all over you,” Derek growls against Stiles’ ear. “Not hugging. Not touchy-feely. You smell like they've had their hands all over you," he murmurs, straightening up and pinning Stiles with a stare. "And their _mouths_."

"Oh, that," Stiles grins, as if he's only just realised what Derek is driving at. "Well, I guess that's because they have. Been kissing me, I mean."

"Kissing you."

"With their mouths," Stiles supplies helpfully. He shoves his hands in his pockets and whistles casually. He's impressed with his own fake nonchalance. Judging by the raised eyebrow he gets, Derek is not.

"I know how kissing works."

"I thought you did," Stiles agrees. "I mean, you're kind of an expert, in my opinion."

"You can't wriggle out of this with flattery."

"I’m _really_ not trying to," Stiles chuckles, and gets a roll of Derek's eyes in return. It doesn’t deter him; he can see the fondness in the smile Derek is trying to hide.

"Explain," he demands easily.

"Well," Stiles begins, "I don't know how into Christmas werewolves are? But us humans, we have certain traditions we like to carry out. Y'know, Christmas carolling, presents, eating your own weight in chocolates - "

" - I am well aware what Christmas - "

" - mistletoe," Stiles interrupts with a triumphant smirk. "Dude, when there's mistletoe, kisses _have_ to happen. It‘s, like, an unwritten rule."

"Uh-huh," Derek snorts. "So you just happened to end up under the mistletoe with every single one of your pack mates?"

"I know, right? What are the odds?"

"I'm thinking they‘re pretty good," Derek drawls, arms crossed. "Who had the mistletoe, Stiles?"

Stiles doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk. He fishes the mistletoe from his pocket and gives Derek a comically surprised look. "Oh, man, what's that doing there?"

"Cute," Derek huffs. "So you brought mistletoe to school and used it as an excuse to get yourself kissed by every single pack member. Even Jackson?"

"Even Jackson," Stiles agrees, before his lips spread into a goofy smile. "And Danny. He was right there when I mistletoed Jackson. I couldn't get kissed by Jackson then refuse some Danny action to make it all better, could I? And he's practically pack, anyway. He's pack-adjacent."

"Danny is very kissable, I‘m not arguing," Derek says dryly. "So you made out with everyone - "

" - I showed reasonable affection to my pack," Stiles protests. "You said affection between us all was a good thing, I distinctly recall. You were pacing around right here, telling us that pack-cuddles were healthy!"

"Fine," Derek says smoothly, and splays one large hand over Stiles' chest. Stiles swallows, suddenly silenced. "But you know damn well there's a difference between affection and - and make-outs. You smell like they were all over you!"

"Maybe I should explain," Stiles offers, his cheeks flushing. "Um. So. One of my favourite flavours of Derek is 'possessive Derek'. And you haven’t let him out to play for a little while."

"I've been respecting you," Derek protests defensively. His green eyes are adorably wide. "Are you kidding me? I've been controlling myself!"

"Right, great, fantastic, I'm a big fan of control!" Stiles agrees, and offers a small smile. "And while I'm not saying controlled Derek is wonderful, and I really appreciate that you - ”

“ - stopped shoving you against walls?” Derek mutters. “And climbing into your bedroom window like a creep? You miss that?”

“No!” Stiles says quickly. He runs his hands soothingly up and down the flesh of Derek’s bare arms, giving him a fond look. “I appreciate all of that, seriously. And I’m proud of you for it. But I still… I kind of miss the way you…I don‘t know how to explain!"

"The way I threw you around like a caveman?" Derek snorts.

"Right!" Stiles blurts, before smiling sheepishly. "Uh. I mean, no, not quite. More like…the way you touch me, when you want to make sure I know I'm _yours_. Dude, I appreciate that you’re so much more respectful of me now, okay? But this is me officially telling you I also appreciate a little… let’s say ‘mild manhandling’, now and then. I like you being kind of rough, y’know? And,” he adds after a deep breath, shifting awkwardly, “I didn’t really know how to tell you that, so I - "

" - so instead of just talking to me about this," Derek interrupts smoothly, as small, slightly exasperated smile spreads across on his face, "You bought some mistletoe and got the pack to get over-familiar with you in the hopes that I’d react exactly like you wanted without you having to spell it out?"

"You're making this plan seem a lot less subtle than I wanted," Stiles murmurs, anxiety suddenly spiking. He wraps his arms around Derek, giving him an awkward hug. "And pretty mean. I’m sorry. I swear, I didn‘t think you‘d be angry at me for asking, I just thought that I…probably couldn‘t explain in a way that wasn‘t offensive to you. I thought this might be better. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Derek rumbles, and Stiles feels himself settle in relief, before springing back, his eyes wide as a different worry strikes.

“It was all my idea, okay?” he blurts. “The pack just went along with it! So you're not allowed to take this out on any of your puppies."

"I don't plan to," Derek agrees amiably enough, and suddenly the room spins around Stiles. He yelps and shuts his eyes dizzily, only opening them once the world settles. Judging from his sudden excellent view of Derek's ass, he’s been thrown over Derek's shoulder. He laughs, and wind his fingers in Derek's shirt to tug happily. Somehow, despite what he now thinks was the World‘s Worst Plan, he‘s getting his wish.

“What are you doing?” he asks eagerly. Derek settles a hand on his backside and gives it a firm pat.

“As the alpha,” Derek says mildly, “I know this kind of behaviour can’t stand. I can’t have my entire pack deliberately trying to annoy me.”

“I’m pretty sure it was just one bad apple,” Stiles tells him helpfully. He pinches Derek’s ass, just because he wants to. Derek chuckles and jostles Stiles until he can pin an arm around his legs, keeping him in place. He shivers happily. “Oh, god - me, it was me!”

“Mmhmm. So my position was not treated with respect, by every single one of my wolves. But I don't see the point in punishing them,” Derek tells him, carrying Stiles upstairs as if he weighs nothing, “When I should be punishing the bad influence that drew them astray."

"Yup, agreed," Stiles says with an appreciative shiver. "Punish away, please! Undo their handiwork! Reclaim me as your own!"

"You're an idiot,” laughs Derek. Stiles grins to himself.

“ _Your_ idiot.”

“My idiot,” Derek agrees, a warmth to his voice that fills Stiles with happiness. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that.”

To his surprise, instead of heading towards his bedroom, Derek takes a right and drops Stiles onto his feet in the bathroom. “Hey. Big guy. I think you got lost,” he laughs, gesturing helpfully over his shoulder. “Bed’s thattaway.”

“I know where my bedroom is.”

“Really? ‘Cause, like, when we first met, I was sure you just curled up in dark corners to go to sleep. Dark corners in other people’s bedrooms. After ripping those people’s throats out.”

“Yeah, they used to call me the Corner Killer,” Derek drawls, and Stiles can’t help but giggle. Man, who knew Derek Hale had a sense of humour? He turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving Stiles to blink after him.

“Hey. Hey, you forget something, Derek?” he calls pointedly.

“You’re right,” Derek muses, and sticks his head around the door to give Stiles a once-over with a heated gaze. “Strip.”

Stiles swallows. “Strip?”

“As in, take off your clothes. All of ‘em. You better be naked when I get back,” Derek says smoothly, and Stiles gulps.

“Okay, well…as long as you’re coming back, that’s all,” he shouts, and busies himself taking off his shirt.

He’s just about to slide his boxers off when Derek strolls back in. Stiles hurriedly shoves them down his legs and kicks the material away, gesturing to himself helpfully. “Naked! Naked, see? Naked when you got back.”

“Just about,” Derek concedes. “You’re a little slow, but I’ve always been able to forgive that so far.”

“Hilarious,” Stiles snorts, before squirming as Derek moves towards him. There is a dark purpose gleaming in his eyes, and Stiles can’t help backing up as he approaches. He shivers in shock as his back hits the cool tiles of the wall. Derek takes advantage and presses close, trapping him in place between his arms as he presses his hands either side of Stiles’ head and smirks at him with just a hint of teeth. The brush of his clothes against Stiles’ bare skin makes him squirm, suddenly hyper-aware of his nudity. “So, uh, yeah. Naked. As requested.”

“As _ordered_.”

“Ordered, right, that was an order, of course,” Stiles says quickly, and takes a deep breath when Derek casually nudges his legs apart. “An order I carried out, so…am I in trouble, here?”

“Not in trouble, precisely,” Derek muses. He snuffles at Stiles’ throat again, the scrape of his stubble and the hot huff of breath against his skin leaving Stiles with his eyes closed and his throat bared. “You just don’t smell like you’re mine, any more. I don’t like it.”

“So do something about it,” Stiles encourages. His hands tug at Derek’s hair, and when he lifts his head, he swallows at the tinge of red in those green eyes. “Um. I mean. If you want?”

“I want,” Derek agrees, voice low. He backs away from Stiles and closes his eyes, settling himself; when they open, the red has vanished. Derek gives Stiles a pleasant smile and beckons at the bathtub. Stiles copies it, bemused.

“Yeah? In - you want me in the tub? Okay, I can - I have the ability to sit in a bath, sure.”

“Standing,” Derek corrects as Stiles pads across the room. He points at the shower head over the tub. “We’re going to have a shower together.”

“Oh?” Stiles says, moving more eagerly at the prospect of this. He clambers into the bath eagerly, and grins when Derek follows, barefoot but fully clothed as he climbs in behind him. “Hey, y’know, I’m thinking it might be better for you if you were naked too? I mean, I’m old fashioned like that. I take all my showers nude. Not that I’m telling you what to do!” he squeaks hurriedly when Derek stares at him.

Derek ignores his advice in favour of reaching up to tap at the rail of the shower curtain. “Put your hands above this.”

“What?” Stiles asks. In answer, Derek pulls something out of his back pocket. He holds them out to Stiles on his palm as Stiles gapes; _handcuffs_. “Oh,” he manages, his voice wavering a little. “Oh, my god.”

“Okay?” Derek asks softly. He reaches out to Stiles and pulls him close, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding his chin up with one gentle hand. “Do you not want to…?”

“Are you kidding?” Stiles blurts, and laughs as Derek smiles bemusedly. “I want to. I _really_ want to. I mean it! Oh my god, don’t even offer this then not follow through!”

“Are you sure?” Derek asks him softly, and Stiles groans in frustration. He grabs Derek’s hand at the wrist and drags it down from his chin to press pointedly against his stiffening prick. Derek palms his dick and chuckles fondly.

“Do I _seem_ like I’m not sure? Cuff me, already!” Stiles demands, and raises onto his tiptoes to hold his wrists above the rail, beaming at Derek all the while. He coughs a little when Derek raises an amused eyebrow, and mentally replays his words. “Uh, I mean, yes, alpha of mine, I submit to your order.”

“You are ridiculous,” Derek chuckles, warm and amused. He runs both hands up Stiles’ arms, letting his nails scrape lightly against his flesh to make Stiles shiver appreciatively. A toothy grin appears on Derek’s face as he fastens the cuffs around both slender wrists. Stiles immediately rattles the chain between them, jingling it against the metal of the pole Derek has tethered him to.

“Awesome!” he beams, and squeaks when Derek’s hands trail back down his arms, nails digging more firmly into his skin as they roam. Both large palms rest over his chest for awhile, thumbing his nipples roughly. Derek grins when they stiffen into firm nubs under his touch. His hands slide slowly down his chest, stroking idly over his stomach until they finally reach his stiff dick. Stiles cannot help but sigh in relief when Derek strokes his fingers curiously over his heated flesh.

“You’re already hard?”

“I told you,” Stiles murmurs, his eyes fixed on Derek. “I like you being possessive. And controlling. Hell, I _love_ it! Keeping me where you want me,” he says with a pointed rattle of the cuffs, “Is both of those things. Dude, that is _more_ than enough to get me hard. Oh, my god - so is that, that‘s good too!” he babbles when Derek slides his hands over his hips to grab at his ass, dragging Stiles closer and parting his cheeks in the same movement.

“Do you like how vulnerable you are?” Derek asks, his voice low. He punctuates his point with a rough squeeze of his backside as Stiles struggles on his tiptoes. “How you’re naked and helpless to hold me off?”

“Yup, yes, I definitely like all of the above,” Stiles breathes. “Naked and helpless and yours, right?”

“Almost,” Derek murmurs. Stiles whines as he picks _then_ to step out of the shower. Derek laughs as Stiles tries to surge after him with a whine. “Calm down. I’m not showering with my clothes on,” he says pointedly as he strips.

“Right, showering, right,” Stiles says in frustration. He aims his best pout at Derek. “Would you come here and have hot shower sex with me already?”

“No,” Derek says firmly, and Stiles whimpers.

“What? Why? Look at me! Naked and helpless, remember?”

“No sex until I’ve cleaned you up,” Derek explains. He’s fiddling with the faucet now, sending a spray of icy water into the tub. Stiles shrieks and shrinks back with a wounded look that has Derek cracking up. “Sorry, sorry! I thought that was the hot water.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Stiles says suspiciously. He shivers as the cool spray hits his feet. “What do you mean, clean me up? Dude, I’m clean as a whistle. I showered right after lacrosse.”

“Uh-huh. And then you let the entire pack feel you up,” Derek says calmly. He smiles in satisfaction when the water is to his preferred temperature, and ducks under the spray with a happy sigh. Derek lets the water beat down onto him for a moment, relaxing in the rising steam, before he crowds close to Stiles again and explains himself. “I can smell everyone, all over you,” he murmurs, running his thumbs over Stiles’ sharp hip bones, his fingers fanning over the exposed stretch of his stomach. “Exactly where they touched you.”

“Dude,” Stiles breathes, impressed. “How good is your sense of smell, anyway?”

“I know Erica licked all down your neck,” Derek says evenly, and Stiles’ eyes widen. “And I know Isaac had his hands right here,” he says, demonstrating with his hands either side of Stiles’ waist. “Under your shirt.”

“Um. He, uh, lifted me up against the lockers. Um. And made me put my arms around him. It was in the changing room,” Stiles offers with a weak laugh. “After lacrosse. I got the mistletoe out before I put my shirt on.”

“Did they know what you were planning?” asks Derek curiously.

“Um,” Stiles squeaks again, his cheeks flushing as he squirms in Derek‘s hold. “Yes? I mean, I…I had to tell them what I was thinking, or they’d just think I was some kind of pervert, right?”

“They understand pack affection better than you do,” Derek chuckles. “They’ll always want to touch everyone in their pack. But I’m guessing since they knew how you wanted me to react, they wanted to make sure you were good and covered with their scents,” he says evenly, his eyes gleaming as he stares at Stiles. “Which _probably_ explains why Boyd had his hands on your ass.”

“He lifted me up too,” Stiles admits, squirming as Derek drags his nails gently down Stiles’ back. “He got me to wrap my legs around him while he, uh, held me up with his hands on…”

“Say it,” Derek orders him, letting his fangs lengthen just a little. Stiles swallows hard.

“My ass,” he whines. “Okay? He groped my ass! Jeez, Derek - ”

“ - you smell like they wanted you,” Derek growls, his voice rough. Stiles groans instinctively, his hands turning in the cuffs as he tries to move closer. “You need to smell like you’re mine again. I’m going to clean you up.”

“Yeah, okay, do it,” he whimpers, and Derek’s teeth flash in a smirk.

“I wasn’t asking your permission. I’m going to scrub you clean until I can’t smell anything but you,” he murmurs, and steps back to snatch up a sponge. It belongs to Erica, Stiles thinks, and is two sided; one is pink and soft, and the other is rough, designed for exfoliation. Stiles swallows as that side is drizzled with Derek‘s shower gel. Derek aims a dark grin at him. “And when I’ve done _that_ , I’m going to make sure you smell like you’re mine again.”

Showers, in Stiles’ experience, usually last about two minutes. The goal is to get wet, get clean, get out.

Derek, however, seems to disagree. Stiles soon loses track of how long they stand under the spray. His arms soon start to protest at being held up for so long; his hands and wrists wish to make their protests known. They’re becoming kind of achey.

Everywhere else, however, is getting pretty tender. Derek apparently means it literally when he says he’s going to scrub Stiles clean; his pale skin turns bright pink as Derek works the sponge roughly over his entire body, leaving him whimpering.

But that’s only half of it. As Derek deems his skin suitably cleansed, it is lavished with his attention. 

His arms are first. Derek’s strong hands move the rough sponge down his left arm, scrubbing until his flesh is bright pink, then move onto his right arm without a moment of respite. When his skin is gleaming and tender, Derek grins, and moves in with his mouth. 

He presses kisses as high as he can reach up Stiles’ arms, teeth scraping teasingly against the delicate flesh of his inner elbows until Stiles squeaks. Then he licks his way back down them, hands wrapped around Stiles’ forearms to keep him in place. Stiles sighs when Derek presses his nose to his armpits, growling in satisfaction. “Damn werewolves and your stupid scent love,” he complains as he tries to squirm away, way too ticklish to stand the tip of Derek’s nose nuzzling under his arms. “Stop it! You won’t smell anything good there!”

“It smells of you,” Derek rumbles in return. He sounds kind of blissed out in a way that leaves Stiles red in the face, Derek’s rough voice flooding straight to his cock.

His chest follows next. Derek does not pay any regard to how sensitive he is; an arm locks around his waist as soon as he tries to scramble away from the merciless touch of the sponge. Stiles finds himself trapped against Derek, held firmly in place so Derek can scour him until he gasps desperately with every little touch of his nipples. Derek does not do much to soothe them when he laves his tongue over the dusky flesh, swirling and teasing with his teeth as Stiles whimpers and struggle against his hold. He knows he’s stuck, of course, but the amused, possessive look in Derek’s eyes when he drags him back is golden.

Once his throat is clean enough for Derek’s liking Stiles ends up baring it for him without a second thought, gasping as Derek leaves a couple of hickeys that he’s sure are noticeable from a thousand yards. His collarbone is nibbled, his sides practically tortured with tickling fingers, his chest and stomach littered with fluttering kisses and playful bites. Another hickey is pressed over one of his hipbones before Derek skips his dick entirely and moves onto his legs. 

“Oh, c’mon!” Stiles protests. It’s just too much, seeing Derek on his knees between his thighs, his face so close to his dick that he can feel his breath on it. But still he finds himself pointedly ignored, in what basically amounts to a form of torture. As Derek cleans his inner thighs Stiles gives into temptation; he whines and rocks his hips hopefully, and murmurs, “C’mon, please?” in his best seductive voice. The result is a warning growl and a dark glower aimed up the length of his body that, frankly, does absolutely nothing to stop his dick flushing in need. Stiles takes the point anyway, and keeps himself as still as possible while Derek firmly washes his thighs and calves. 

Well, he stops trying to shove his cock in Derek’s face, anyway. He can’t actually stop himself squirming in the face of this firm attention, over-stimulated and desperate.

Stiles is surprised by how much he enjoys the feel of Derek’s mouth against his delicate ankle bones; even more astonished that he manages not to kick Derek in the face when he lifts first one foot, then the other, and presses delicate kisses to the soles, before sucking each toe into his mouth. Stiles whimpers, trying desperately to keep himself balanced with his hands caught above his head, one foot on tiptoes, and one held to Derek‘s mouth. “You, uh, my feet? Really? That’s, um, pretty thorough. Dedicated, even.”

Derek ignores him and works his way up Stiles’ wet legs, holding him in place effortlessly as he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive skin behind his knees and presses gentle bites up the inside of his thighs.

He avoid his ass. Of _course_. “You are the worst kind of person, you know that?” Stiles tells Derek breathlessly, his breath coming in short pants as large hands scrub over his back. All his complaints get him is a teasing bite on the back of his neck and a dark chuckle huffed against his ear.

Only when the skin of his back is pink and glowing does Derek move his attention to his backside. Stiles squeaks as his legs are guided apart unstoppably. “Are you really - you’re not gonna - oh, you are, of course you are,” he groans as Derek rubs the sponge roughly over his ass. He tries to scoot out of the way with a whimper and yelps when Derek drags him back with a possessive arm curled around his hips. Stiles has no choice but to let Derek scrub his backside _hard_ until he’s sure his skin is bright red and throbbing.

He sobs, actually _sobs_ when Derek gets to his knees, spreads his cheeks apart, and drags the sponge over his tender asshole. It’s followed immediately by Derek’s tongue, and a choked moan escapes him as he wriggles helplessly in Derek’s grasp. “Derek! Oh my god, nobody touched me _there_!”

“I don’t care,” Derek growls, and does something swirly and _wonderful_ with his tongue that has Stiles squeezing his eyes shut and whimpering desperately. His prick is achingly hard against his stomach and he can’t help but struggle in the cuffs, wanting more than anything to touch Derek. “Oh my god, oh my _god_ ,” he moans, his back arching as he eagerly presents his ass to Derek. His tongue is wicked and teasing as it probes his delicate muscle, sending shudders of need through his entire body. It’s amazing and filthy and _nowhere near enough_.

“Derek, Derek _please_ , I need you to touch me!” he begs.

“Hmm?” Stiles sobs as Derek gets to his feet, fiddling with the bottle of shower gel as he moves to face Stiles. “Touch you where?”

“My _dick_ , you asshole!” Stiles spits. His eyes widen in fear when Derek gives him an unimpressed stare, and he backtracks immediately. “No, nonono, I’m sorry! You’re not an asshole, you’re - you’re my alpha, and I’m yours, okay? I’m yours, and I need you to touch me,” he whines, panting with need.

Derek smirks. “Since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs. 

A drizzle of shower gel hits his palm and he soaps his hands up before grasping Stiles’ firm prick. The wavering howl he drags from Stiles produces an answering growl from Derek, and he grabs Stiles to lift him into the air, leaving him hanging helplessly from his wrists. He instinctively wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and digs his heels into his back, supported effortlessly by one of Derek’s arms as the other hand fists his prick.

He doesn’t last long. He _can’t_. Stiles is over-sensitive and tender all over, aching with desire to be claimed, and he is helpless to stop himself rocking into Derek‘s hand. Derek holds him close with a firm arm around his waist and a heated mouth at his gasping throat, whispering encouragement into his skin as he ruts against Stiles’ ass. “I love you like this, so needy and desperate,” Derek murmurs, green eyes heated with lust. His teeth dig into Stiles’ throat and he tosses his head back with a gasp, baring himself to Derek without hesitation. “Yes, such a good boy, you’re so good for me - you’re mine,” Derek rumbles. Stiles loves the firm press of Derek’s cock against his backside, rocking teasingly between his cheeks and rubbing endlessly against his slick hole. “Come for me, c’mon. You’re always so gorgeous when you come, you’re so good for me - you’re mine, Stiles, you’re _mine_!”

Stiles spills into Derek‘s hand, a wrecked moan on his lips.

When his brain is in something close to working order, he realises he is once more standing shakily and the spray of water no longer beats down upon him. Derek has climbed out of the bath and is towelling himself off quickly.

He’s still hard.

“What’re you doing?” Stiles manages as Derek runs the towel carelessly over his own hair. “You’re still - you haven’t - you don’t want to come?”

“Stop talking,” says Derek, but his voice is teasing and fond. He seems to be paying his dick no heed at all; instead, he climbs back into the bath and wraps the towel around Stiles. It’s a kind of delicious torture when Derek starts to dry him. Stiles moans softly at the firm touches on his raw skin, but feels himself melting yet further under Derek’s attentive touches. “Of course I want to come,” he murmurs as he works. 

“Then why - ow, okay, ow ow _ow_ ,” Stiles groans when Derek abandons the towel and unfastens the handcuffs. He doesn’t fall, but he does lean against Derek as he flings his hands around and tries to get rid of the sudden pins and needles stabbing at his fingers. “Jeez!”

“You okay?” Derek asks, concern obvious in his voice as he holds Stiles up. Stiles laughs as he flails his arms.

“Yeah, I think my hands are just about to fall off,” he laughs, rubbing at his wrists. “Anyway, no, how come you haven’t - ”

Stiles doesn’t have time to finish his thought before he finds himself hauled over Derek’s shoulder again. “Oh, we’re still playing, huh?” he laughs softly, and slaps Derek’s bare his ass because seriously, how is he meant to resist when it’s just _there_?

He huffs in fake protest when Derek throws him down onto his bed, huge and soft and very welcoming. Derek is on top of him in moments, pressing desperate, filthy kisses to his lips, and Stiles has hold of his cock before Derek can stop him. He moans and hisses in pleasure, but grabs onto Stiles’ wrist to stop him. “No, let go.”

“What?” Stiles pouts shamelessly up at Derek and kisses him again. “You need to come!”

“I know - I want - let me,” Derek pants. He gently guides Stiles’ hand away and kneels up, shuffling along Stiles’ body until he is straddling his waist. He takes his prick in hand and aims a desperate look at Stiles. “I want to come on you.”

“Oh, my god,” Stiles groans, and he nods eagerly. “Yes. Now. Do it.”

“Are you sure?” Derek asks, and Stiles laughs up at him.

“Are you kidding? Yes! Yes, _please_ , if you like! How else are you gonna claim me? Mark me,” he says, his voice rough as he watches Derek work his cock with long, firm pulls. His hands slide up Derek’s damp thighs to cling onto his hips, licking his lips unconsciously at the sight of his firm dick just above him. “C’mon, Derek. You’re my alpha, right? I want you to claim me. I want everyone to be able to smell you all over me. I want everyone to know,” he whispers, his voice filthy and low as he blinks lazily up at Derek, drinking in the sight of his hand fisting his own cock eagerly, “That I _belong to you_.”

Derek howls as he comes, spilling onto Stiles’ chest and spattering his face.

Stiles drinks in the sight of Derek panting above him and licks his lips lazily, sighing at the taste of his alpha. The movement of his tongue has Derek groaning softly, his eyes dark and hazy. Derek raises a hand towards his chest then hesitates, and Stiles grins. “Go on. I know you want to.”

A whine escapes his plush lips as Derek gives into temptation and rubs his come into Stiles’ skin, breathing hard. Stiles chuckles when Derek rolls off him, finally satisfied; he drags Derek close and lets him press his nose to his sticky throat. “Better?” he murmurs.

“Mmm,” Derek agrees, his voice thick and satisfied. “You smell like you’re mine again.”

“I feel like I’m yours,” Stiles agrees with a lazy blink. He scruffs a hand through Derek’s damp hair as they lie close. Derek huffs happily and bites down on one of his hickeys, gently worrying at the bruise. “So…no more mistletoe?” Stiles suggests, and feels Derek smile against his skin.

“I don’t mind. So long as I can claim you again afterwards.”

Stiles beams. “Deal!”


End file.
